


Stop The World

by moonix



Series: TFC High School AU [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Andrew Minyard god of DIY, Christmas, IKEA, M/M, Pining, Still accidental fake boyfriends, Thanksgiving, twinyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-29 01:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16253627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Neil’s mother is dead. His father is in prison. If he’s lucky, things might just be working out. Except Neil isn’t usually lucky…





	1. With the exception of you I dislike everyone in the room

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: discussion of physical abuse (it happens off-screen though), underage drinking, mentions of drug addiction, mentions of Andrew’s past, religion is brought up in one scene with Luther, implied animal cruelty (very brief and not explicit)
> 
> Title and chapter titles from the song Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You by The Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> Many thanks to Alex (petalplate) for helping me clean up this part! :D

It’s a freezing cold morning in November when Andrew first sees the true colour of Neil’s eyes.

The heating clanks and labours and the window is overgrown with frost. They bought a mattress together the day before, but they don’t have a bed yet. Their bags are huddled together in a corner, some clothes are slung over a chair they borrowed from Matt, and there’s a lone string of Christmas lights taped to the wall above their mattress, left over from the previous tenant of the room.

Neil’s eyes are open when Andrew wakes up. Blue light brushes his eyelashes. He blinks slowly but doesn’t hide his eyes or turn away, giving Andrew time to study them. Andrew has suspected before that Neil’s eyes are blue, but that doesn’t make them any less breath-taking, now that he’s finally allowed to see.

It’s a strangely warm hue, more summer dusk than winter morning. Neil blinks again and looks away, down at his hand in the pillow, his ragged nails and the dry patch of skin around his knuckles.

“Why?” Andrew asks.

Neil shrugs and picks at the fabric of his pillowcase.

“You already know everything now,” he says. “I’m just. Tired of hiding.”

The words elbow their way free of the sleep-rough thicket of his vocal chords. The sound reverberates gently all the way down to the marrow of Andrew’s bones. Hearing Neil’s voice first thing in the morning has become like a bracing sip of hot coffee, and he wonders if he will ever get tired of it.

“Okay,” Andrew says.

They stay in bed for a little longer, listening to the faint noises of their neighbours waking up and getting ready for the day. Andrew shivers himself deeper under the covers and Neil’s lips quirk in a half-smile, but he makes no move to get up either, which proves Andrew’s point that it’s too damn cold to leave the bed today.

“You should get ready for school,” Neil whispers after a while. Andrew pulls the blanket over his face in reply. He can feel more than hear the way Neil’s chest vibrates with silent laughter and he makes use of his new position to pinch him in retaliation. Neil jumps and reflexively kicks out, hitting Andrew’s shin. Andrew catches his leg, and then they’re wrestling under the blankets, shoving and pulling and rolling around until Andrew has Neil flat on his back and locked up tight in his grip.

“Not fair,” Neil pants, trying to squirm out of Andrew’s hold with no success. “You’re heavier than me.”

“Sucks to be you,” Andrew says, leaning more of his weight on Neil’s lithe frame. Neil wheezes and tries to buck his hips, rolling up into Andrew’s body, and the unexpected jolt of arousal is enough to make Andrew lose his grip. Neil pushes him off with a triumphant shout and sits up, grinning and panting.

“Last I heard, you have a math test today,” he teases. “And you’re officially running late now, whereas I can just stay in bed all day. Sucks to be who now?”

“Fuck you,” Andrew mutters, crouching on the edge of the mattress. He feels hot and flustered and all wrong, and there’s a big blank space in his brain where all the math-related facts that Neil taught him used to be.

Staying home isn’t an option anymore now though, not with Neil so close and playful, all sleep-rumpled and warm and out of breath. Andrew breathes out slowly and grabs a few clothes at random before shuffling out to the bathroom. He’s accidentally grabbed one of Neil’s hoodies and he can’t tell if the socks are his or Neil’s, but at least they’re clean.

+

Neil lounges in bed a bit longer after Andrew leaves for school. Then he goes for a run to explore the surrounding area some more, though the sharp wind chases him back and under the shower sooner than he’d planned. He can’t even remember the last time he took a proper shower. Back at the house, they had to warm the water over the gas cooker, so he just wiped himself down with a washcloth and soap most days and didn’t bother with his hair unless it became absolutely necessary. It’s a luxury he’s used to going without, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it when he has access to it, and he stays under the hot spray until his fingers feel wrinkly and his mind is blissfully blank.

He encounters a sleepy Matt in the kitchen, feeding a considerably more perky Sugar. Matt waves at him and yawns before offering him a cup of coffee that Neil takes gratefully.

“Sleep okay?” Matt asks.

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Thanks.”

“I don’t have any classes today, so if you need a ride anywhere, let me know. You two still need a bed, right? We could go to Ikea, should be less crowded this time of day.”

“I– thanks,” Neil says again, caught off-guard. “We don’t– it’s fine, we can just–”

He waves his hand around vaguely, but Matt only throws a box of cereal at him and grins.

“No buts,” he says. “If it’s a money issue, I can lend you some. They have really cheap ones, anyway. And I need a new shelf for my DVDs.”

Neil looks down guiltily at the box of cereal. He’s done nothing to warrant this sort of kindness from Matt, and he’s almost suspicious of it. But then he watches Matt fool around with an overexcited Sugar in the living room and can’t quite bring himself to distrust a guy who watched Frozen on TV last night and cried at the end.

As promised–or threatened–Matt drives them to Ikea after breakfast. The morning’s frost has given way to yellowed skies and a sulky drizzle that seeps into Neil’s clothes, shoes and hair and makes him feel weighed down. Matt keeps up a steady stream of mostly one-sided conversation as they enter the store but doesn’t seem to mind that Neil doesn’t contribute much. Neil learns more about Matt’s friend Allison and her complicated relationship with her on-and-off boyfriend Seth than he ever cared to know, and then about Matt’s mother and his father’s newest barely-legal girlfriend. His head is spinning by the time they reach the bed section, and somehow the big Ikea bag Matt is carrying is already filled with stuff.

“So, how did you and Andrew meet?” Matt asks him as Neil inspects the price tag on a simple white bed frame. He’s never bought a bed before and it feels strange, like he’s playing house.

“At school,” he says vaguely. Matt looks expectantly at him, so he elaborates: “We both hung out in the library after classes and ended up walking home together.”

It’s close enough to the truth that it makes him feel a bit uncomfortable, but Matt’s face lights up at the concession.

“You must miss him when he’s at school, huh? God, I miss Dan every moment we’re not together. But it’s healthy, you know? Doing your own stuff every once in a while.”

He laughs and throws himself down on one of the beds, starfishing out on the mattress.

“Comfy.”

“We already have a mattress,” Neil points out. He searches for the price tag on another plain black bed frame and finds it wedged between the frame and the mattress. It’s cheaper than the white one, and Andrew might appreciate it being black. If Andrew were here, he’d probably lie down on one of the queen sized beds, shoes and all, and have a nap while Neil browsed.

Weird. Neil kind of does miss him, in that moment. He blinks and shoves the price tag back, then has to fumble it out again to memorise the number so they can pick one up on the way out.

“Hey, Noel, check this out,” Matt calls over. Neil finds him on the top bunk of a bunk bed, his shoes kicked off. He looks around for a store attendant, but the only one he can spot is busy at the info station with a very talkative couple and their toddler. Otherwise their section is quiet.

“Come on,” Matt grins, “the view’s great from up here.”

Neil huffs and climbs up the ladder, perching close to the exit. The view isn’t much different, but someone’s really taken care with the display and stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling above the bunk bed. There’s a string of generic artsy photographs and postcards on the wall and Matt is inspecting a stuffed neon green dinosaur.

“I think you’re really brave, you know,” he says, and for a moment Neil thinks he’s talking to the dinosaur, but then Matt looks at him. “My dad was kinda– well. He wasn’t abusive or anything, but he was always throwing these giant parties, and there were drugs. Loads of them. I told myself it was fine, and I didn’t manage to leave until I was twenty-one. Took me two years to get sober. I’m not ashamed of it, just… I had my mom, so I was lucky, but I know how hard it is to stand your ground, you know?”

Neil swallows and looks down at his hands. He knows Matt is referring to the story of homophobic parents that Neil fed him before they moved in, but it still feels a little too relevant, a little too close to home.

“Okay,” he says tonelessly, and Matt chuckles.

“You’re not much of a talker, huh? You and Andrew, you’re kind of similar like that. Have you decided on a bed?”

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Can we go grocery shopping on the way back? No offense, but I don’t wanna eat your cereal for the rest of the week.”

“Sure,” Matt says. “But first…”

But first, they go down to the kitchen section and Neil watches, bemused, as Matt goes a little shopping-crazy. The new set of wine glasses he can sort of understand, but why on earth they need all those napkins, scented candles, cookie cutters, cupcake wrappers, tea towels and a mushroom brush is beyond him. Matt seems happy though and hums as they push their overflowing cart through the depot and pick up the parts for Neil’s new bed. He grabs one of the neon green dinosaurs at check-out and sits it on top of the pile like a dragon guarding its hoard.

“For Dan,” he says at Neil’s incredulous look. “Wanna get something for Andrew? How about one of those pandas, they won’t compromise his goth aesthetic.”

Neil, despite himself, grins and doesn’t protest when Matt tosses one of the stuffed pandas in the cart.

+

“Uncle Luther wants you at his house for Thanksgiving,” Aaron says without preamble as Andrew slides into the seat next to him. “He’s getting pissed because you keep avoiding him. Mom keeps badgering me about asking you.”

“Well, now you did,” Andrew mutters, taking out his things.

“You coming or what?” Aaron presses.

Andrew twirls a pen in his fingers and thinks about it. He has no interest in the rest of his so-called family beyond Aaron, and the last Thanksgiving dinner he attended was at the Spears’ and its only saving grace was that Drake had too much to drink and fell asleep early.

“I might be able to wrangle an invitation for Neil,” Aaron hisses under his breath, eyes fixed on the blackboard where the teacher is writing down instructions for today’s partner assignment.

“I’ll ask him,” Andrew demurs. Neil is probably going to say yes, because he wants Andrew to connect with his family. They’ll go, everything will be supremely awkward, Tilda will try too hard and Luther will lord it over everyone like he always does according to Aaron, but at least Andrew will get some dessert out of the whole ordeal and Tilda will stop bugging Aaron about it. Case closed.

At lunch, Aaron keeps staring at his favourite cheerleader at the next table over. After the second time he’s tried to put his fork in his mouth with no food on it, Andrew snaps his fingers in front of his face to pull him back to reality.

“What’s your malfunction?”

Aaron glares.

“Nothing. Just thinking about the test.”

“No, you are thinking about the cheerleader with the hair.”

“With the hair?” Aaron asks, quirking an eyebrow. Andrew gestures around his head to indicate the mass of curls the cheerleader sports, and Aaron rolls his eyes. “She has a name. It’s Katelyn.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, I know you already have someone and don’t need to debase yourself looking for a prom date like the rest of us, but I’m not going stag.”

“Then ask her,” Andrew says, ignoring the rest of Aaron’s statement. Even if he had any interest whatsoever in going to prom, he doubts Neil would go with him.

If Neil is even still around by then, he thinks bitterly and shoves his plate away.

“I can’t just ask her!” Aaron hisses. “It’s not that easy!”

“What, are you planning an elaborate promposal?” Andrew scoffs. Aaron crosses his arms, looking sullen, and sneaks another glance at the cheerleader.

Katelyn.

Whatever.

 “Whatever,” Aaron says, echoing his thoughts. His fingers are drumming a nervous rhythm on the tabletop and his eyes are red-rimmed again. Andrew considers asking him if he still thinks his little drug habit is casual and under control, but Aaron sniffs and gets up before he can broach the topic.

“Bathroom,” he lies, like Andrew doesn’t know he already went before lunch. “See you in bio.”

Andrew contemplates the pudding cup he saved for last. He knows Aaron is going to meet with his dealer, a scrawny, twitchy kid from the year below them. If he interferes, Aaron is going to be a pain to deal with for the rest of the week. So far Andrew’s only poked and prodded and Aaron’s evaded him, but Andrew can see that his grades are getting more irregular, and sometimes he misses an entire class and Andrew has to go and look for him.

It’s starting to become a problem.

If only Andrew could erase the root of the problem.

+

Neil is still puzzling over the pieces of the bed frame when Andrew gets home. Matt is making enchiladas and singing along to Abba songs in the kitchen, the smell of fried onions drifting through the apartment and making Neil’s mouth water. He looks up at Andrew, sitting in the midst of an array of screws and bolts and other things he doesn’t even know the names of.

“I’ve been trying to assemble this piece of shit for an hour and I’m still nowhere near close,” he sighs. “I give up.”

“Have you checked the instructions,” Andrew asks deadpan, dropping his bag in the only corner that isn’t compromised.

“The instructions are wrong!” Neil snaps.

Andrew takes the crumpled piece of paper from him and smooths it out. He takes one look at the gibberish of diagrams and arrows and picks up the one piece Neil had managed to put together.

“This doesn’t go here. Pass me the screwdriver.”

Neil watches in awe as Andrew expertly dismantles the piece and starts slotting together the rest of the parts. He doesn’t even need to look at the instructions again. Within twenty minutes, the bedframe stands ready to use.

“Well,” Neil says, “you have to admit the instructions weren’t very clear on the first step.”

“I’m impressed you remembered to buy a box spring,” Andrew drawls. Neil doesn’t mention that it was Matt who realised at the last minute that they still needed one, and helps Andrew lift the mattress into the frame. He dumps their pillows and blankets on top and throws himself down on the lot, bouncing a little. The box spring squeaks loudly and Matt’s singing falters for a moment before picking back up at a higher volume.

“Great,” Andrew sighs, sinking down next to him. “Now he thinks we’re christening the new bed.”

Neil bounces some more and Andrew shoots him an unimpressed look.

“If you start moaning, I’m leaving,” he says. Neil snorts and nudges his leg with his foot until Andrew starts nudging back.

“I got you something,” Neil says, picking up the stuffed panda and showing it to Andrew. He gets an unimpressed look in response.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t know, cuddle it?” Neil grins. He squishes the panda’s face in his hands and sits it down between their pillows. “How was school?”

“Can you get Aaron’s mother killed and make it look like an accident?”

“Not funny,” Neil says, all the humour draining out of him.

“I wasn’t joking,” Andrew says.

Neil turns on his side to look at him.

“Why?”

Andrew rolls the words around in his mouth like marbles.

“His drug habit is getting worse. And he has bruises, I saw them in the changing room.”

“Does she hit him?”

“Presumably.”

Neil looks at a stain on the ceiling. He thinks about Drake, about how killing him didn’t actually solve anything in the end. He’s not sorry he did it–Drake had deserved worse–but there’s no use going to all the trouble again and risking a police investigation if Aaron still comes out a drug addict and can’t pay off Tilda’s debts and mortgage on the house.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” Andrew says. “There is no point.”

“He might confide in you, if you play it right. If we get him out of the house and away from her…”

“And take him where?” Andrew says, gesturing around their sardine tin of a room. “Here?”

“No,” Neil says quietly. “I’ll… I’ll think of something. Just try to talk to him, okay?”

Andrew stares at him for a long moment.

“What do you want in return?” he asks at last.

The, “Nothing,” is quick on the tip of Neil’s tongue, but then he gives it some more thought. He knows what he has to ask for, and it settles in his bones like lead.

“One day,” he says, as quietly as he can, “I will have to leave, alone. And when that day comes, I want you to let me go.”

Andrew’s honey and maple eyes harden like resin.

“This is my bargain,” Neil tells him before he can protest. “Aaron’s freedom for mine.”

It takes a long time for Andrew’s answer to come. When it does, it isn’t anything Neil expected.

“Promise that you will come back.”

“I…”

Neil swallows a mouthful of terror. It goes down slowly, laboriously, elbows out and teeth bared.

“Promise me,” Andrew insists.

Neil rubs his clammy hands over his jeans and breathes out.

“I promise that I will come back. If I can.”

Andrew’s eyes search him for a lie and come up empty. He nods and holds out his pinkie.

“Deal,” he says. Neil curls his finger around Andrew’s and swallows again.

“Deal.”


	2. When you have to escape, say the word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add a warning for a panic attack happening in this chapter!
> 
> Thanks everyone for the nice comments! I'll try to post the last chapter of this part some time this weekend.

The first time Allison comes over to the apartment for board game night, she makes a beeline for Neil and perches on the edge of his armchair, her cleavage level with his head. Neil leans and looks away uncomfortably and Allison smirks.

“Yup, gay as a maypole,” she decrees, patting his floofy hair. Andrew wants to slap her hand away but settles for glaring instead.

“I told you,” Matt laughs from where he’s making a snack tray. “And he always pays his rent on time, _and_ Sugar loves him.”

Allison winks at Neil and slinks off to accept a glass of rosé from Dan before throwing herself dramatically on the sofa and swinging her feet into Dan’s lap.

“Can’t fault me for being suspicious, Matty,” she drawls. “Remember the guy who stole your television _and_ your stereo? He told you some sob story, too. You’re too easily swayed by tragedy.”

“That was _one_ time!”

“And the girl who tried to sneak three cats into the spare room,” Dan adds, swirling wine around in her glass. “We had to get a ton of flea treatments until the room was habitable again.”

“His roommate track record isn’t the greatest,” Allison tells Andrew and Neil in a stage whisper. Andrew doesn’t point out that she’s part of that record and eyes the cabinet where Matt keeps his Scotch. Matt and Dan draw the line at wine and beer for the under twenty-ones, but if he waits until they’re tipsy and distracted, he might be able to sneak a few sips without them noticing later.

Neil gets roped into a game of Scrabble and kicks their collective asses, much to everyone’s surprise. Andrew watches from the armchair, nursing a root beer float and occasionally throwing a piece of popcorn for Sugar to chase after. It’s… peaceful, despite the occasional bursts of shouting and squabbling over whether or not a word exists.

It’s late when his phone buzzes against his thigh. Andrew takes it out and finds a garbled message from Aaron, advising him not to come over to the house for a while and something about skipping school on Monday because he has a cold. Andrew is out of his chair and pulling on his boots within seconds.

“I’m going out,” he tells Neil.

Neil takes one look at him and gets up, walking over so the others won’t overhear their conversation.

“What is it?”

“Aaron,” Andrew says, showing him his phone. Neil puts his hands in his back pockets and bounces on his feet, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Want me to come with?”

Andrew shakes his head. If it’s just Tilda, Andrew can deal with it. If it’s something else, he doesn’t want Neil getting in the middle of it.

“Hang on,” Neil murmurs and walks him out into the hall. He’s wearing mismatched socks and his knee is peeking through a hole in his jeans. Andrew has the stupid urge to crouch down and kiss it, so he quickly turns away and pretends to look for his jacket on the coat rack while Neil gets something from their room. At least the hall is dimly lit, so the flush on Andrew’s neck won’t be so visible.

“Here,” Neil says, “just in case.”

It’s a small first aid kit and their emergency flask of whisky. Andrew tucks both into an inner pocket of his jacket and pats down his armbands, feeling the bumps and ridges of the knives in their sheaths.

“Text me if you need help.”

“I won’t,” Andrew says, and: “I will.”

Neil is still chewing his lip when Andrew leaves, looking after him with a troubled look on his face. Andrew closes the door and goes into the basement where Matt keeps his expensive racing bike. He won’t miss it right now if Andrew borrows it for a bit; he’s been using it whenever Matt’s in class or at Dan’s place and Matt has yet to notice.

Columbia is dark and quiet as he cycles across town, the cold wind wiping all traces of sleepiness from his mind. He takes the bike around to the back of the house and hides it under an old tarp amid the other crap littering the backyard. There are no lights on, just the flicker of the television downstairs, and Andrew finds easy footholds in the thick leaves climbing up the back wall. He hauls himself up on top of the covered porch and crawls over to Aaron’s window. The curtains are drawn but he doesn’t hear any voices, so he knocks on the window. After the third knock a light clicks on and a hand pulls the curtains aside to reveal a wide-eyed Aaron, dressed in pyjamas and with a bag of frozen peas obscuring one half of his face.

Andrew motions for him to open the window. Aaron complies with shaking fingers, nearly dropping his bag of peas. They look like they’ve already mostly defrosted.

“What the fuck?” Aaron whispers as Andrew climbs inside and closes the window again. “You can’t be here!”

“Show me,” Andrew says. He reaches out and takes a corner of the bag of peas, pulling.

Aaron looks down, glaring somewhere at Andrew’s feet, and Andrew pulls harder. The peas make a wet noise as they drop to the ground. Bruises climb the side of Aaron’s face like poison ivy. His right eye is swollen shut and there’s a trickle of dried blood under his nose. Andrew clenches his teeth and lets his eyes roam over Aaron’s body, trying to discern the damage hidden under his loose pyjamas.

“It’s fine,” Aaron says weakly. “I messed up. She just got angry because I’m always so clumsy, you know?”

He forces a laugh and bends down to pick up his peas.

“No,” Andrew grinds out and Aaron looks up. Andrew points at his busted face. “ _This_ is not your fault. Ever.”

Aaron ducks his head down again and fiddles with the peas, not saying anything. Andrew gestures for him to sit on the bed and takes out the first aid kit. There isn’t much he can do, it’s just bruises all over, down Aaron’s chest and on his arms like he tried to protect himself. Andrew sneaks down to the kitchen for more ice and finds Tilda passed out on the sofa with an empty bottle and a syringe. For a moment he thinks she might be dead, but then she snores and he’s tempted to smother her with a cushion instead. It would be so easy. He thinks about Neil’s promise though and silently goes back upstairs.

They sit on Aaron’s bed, passing the flask of whisky back and forth between them. The lamp on Aaron’s bedside table just about cradles Aaron’s battered body in its light, leaving Andrew in the dark.

“Your foster mom,” Aaron says after a while. “How was she? Did she like, adopt you?”

“No,” Andrew says, the word like ash in his mouth. “I only lived there for a couple of years.”

“Oh. Where were you before?”

“All over,” Andrew says and takes another sip of whisky to wash the stale taste from his tongue. “They never kept me for long.”

“That sucks,” Aaron mutters. Apparently he’s talkative when drunk, because he continues: “You ever had a girlfriend? I mean, boyfriend? Like, before.”

“No.”

“Me neither. Although I kissed this girl once, at a party. We were playing spin the bottle or some shit. Everyone laughed because she was in the year above and way taller than me.”

Andrew takes another sip of whisky before passing the flask back. He’s starting to feel the buzz too. Maybe enough that cycling back isn’t the best idea right now.

“So, you and Neil,” Aaron mutters, so quietly Andrew can barely make out the slurred words. “Have you, you know… done it yet?”

He scrunches up his nose and tilts the flask against his mouth again. A trickle of whisky runs down his chin.

“No,” Andrew says truthfully.

“Right, right,” Aaron says. “I just can’t get over the… I mean, is that really… like, two guys. Why would you let someone do _that_? Doesn’t it hurt?”

He pulls another grimace, throwing the bruises on his face in stark relief. Andrew digs his fingers into his arms like he’s trying to unearth the last remnants of old bruises that match Aaron’s own.

“It does,” he says quietly.

“Shit,” Aaron says, head thumping against the wall behind him. “Why do it then?”

Andrew swallows and pinches his arm hard enough for a sharp flash of pain to surge through it. He read up on it once, in the library, and he remembers every word still, but he’s not going to discuss the intricacies of gay sex with Aaron right now.

“Not everyone does,” he settles for replying.

“Oh,” Aaron says. “Yeah, of course, makes sense.”

The flask is empty. Andrew tucks it back into his pocket and scoots to the end of the bed.

“Go to sleep,” he tells Aaron.

“What about you?” Aaron mumbles sleepily, already sliding down into his pillow. The sheets smell musty, like they haven’t been washed in a long time, and Andrew curls up at the foot of the bed with his hands on his knives.

“Sleep,” he repeats.

Aaron’s breathing is already even.

+

Neil has no good memories attached to Thanksgiving. Certainly not from before they ran away, and then it was just a day like any other, except Neil sometimes had to come up with a lie when his classmates asked him about his plans. If they were lucky they got a good bargain on something at the grocery store after it was over, but in Europe no one even celebrated Thanksgiving at all.

Stepping inside the Hemmicks’ house is a bit like entering a children’s picture book. Everything looks pristine, the decorations are magazine-worthy, and everyone’s put on their Sunday best except for Andrew and Neil. Aaron looks supremely uncomfortable in a bow tie and Andrew smirks at him. Luther Hemmick shakes hands like he’s trying to squeeze someone’s soul out, Maria Hemmick plays the perfect housewife and bustles around in the kitchen, and Tilda makes a beeline straight for the sherry.

“I don’t like this,” Neil mutters to Andrew. He feels suffocated even though he’s not the one with the bow tie.

“Free food,” Andrew reminds him, pointing at the table already piled high with stuffing, cranberry sauce, boiled vegetables and mash. Maria brings out the turkey, huffing under the weight, and Luther cuts it with an electric meat carver. It’s so far from the tools Neil’s father used that it’s laughable, but the whirring sound still makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in protest.

They sit down. Luther leads them in prayer, but Neil doubts anyone but Maria actually prays. For a while everyone is occupied with the food, passing around serving platters and bowls, the clink of silverware and the occasional request for the salt making a passable imitation of dinner conversation. Then Luther asks the twins about school and Aaron replies for the both of them, and Neil manages to completely derail the topic of college by asking if Luther and Maria’s son won’t join them tonight.

“He is studying abroad,” Maria says in a clipped tone after silence reigns the table for several moments. “Flights are very expensive, you know.”

Next to him Aaron is staring at his food, hands clenched around his knife and fork. Andrew irreverently continues to shovel sweet potato casserole in his mouth.

“Will we see you at church on Sunday, Aaron?” Luther says abruptly, patting his greying beard with his napkin.

“Yes, Uncle Luther,” Aaron mutters obediently.

Luther nods, then turns to Andrew and Neil.

“Which parish do you belong to, then? Aaron couldn’t tell me,” he challenges.

“We don’t,” Neil shrugs.

“Are you not religious?” Luther demands, a missionary glint in his eyes like he’s been waiting to pounce on exactly such a statement. Maria looks a little uncomfortable and Tilda gulps more sherry.

“Technically, I’m Jewish,” Neil feels compelled to say. It’s not a lie – the Hatfords are, though Mary never bothered with any of the traditions even before they ran away. The only thing Neil associates with it is his middle name and hiding out in a Holocaust memorial in Berlin once, laughter and conversation bouncing around the echoing space, distorted and wrong.

There’s a crash as Aaron knocks a glass of juice off the table. A small commotion ensues where Maria tries to save the white plush carpet from being ruined by the stain and Tilda berates Aaron for his clumsiness, gripping him hard by the shoulders. In a flash, Andrew grabs her wrist and twists until she gasps and lets go.

He leans forward to whisper something in her ear. She laughs, high-pitched and fake, and excuses herself to the bathroom to blot the splashes of juice on her skirt.

“We are leaving,” Andrew announces.

“Wh-what?” Maria stammers, sweat on her forehead and sodden paper towels in both hands.

Neil looks at Andrew. He seems calm on the surface, but something tells Neil that he’s seconds away from losing control.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, “we promised we’d stop by my uncle’s house. Aaron, you wanna join us?”

Luther’s face is slowly turning an ugly shade of puce and Neil tugs Aaron to the door, trusting that Andrew will follow. They ignore Luther’s outraged splutters and Maria trying to smooth everything over and run outside, carrying their shoes and jackets.

They barely clear the house before Neil dissolves into wheezy laughter, half hysteria and half relief. Aaron starts chuckling too, still looking deathly pale, and then Andrew reveals that he grabbed the bottle of sherry on his way out and Neil wants to _kiss_ him.

The streets are deserted, most windows lit up. Neil jogs ahead to check the bus schedule, but nothing is running today. They walk to the next station, passing the sherry bottle around, and Neil feels warm from the inside out, warm and free and like things might, for once, actually be working out.

His mother is dead.

His father is in prison.

It’s Thanksgiving and his stomach is full, he’s not alone, and Andrew hooks his arm around Neil’s to stop him from running off again, a warm, solid presence beside him as they walk through the night.

“Hey,” Aaron says. “Do you have money?”

“Yeah,” Neil says. He’s been working more shifts at Eden’s so that Andrew can get some sleep and do his homework, and Katrina shared half of her tips with him last night.

“We could go to Sweetie’s,” Aaron suggests. “They should still be open.”

So they go to Sweetie’s, the same diner he and Andrew went to back when they first arrived in Columbia. The booths are decorated too, but it’s mostly cheap, leftover Halloween stuff, and Andrew gets a pumpkin pie sundae with whipped cream. Neil orders a coffee and Aaron gets a maple and cinnamon milkshake, and the twins compare their overly sweet concoctions and flick cream at each other across the table.

“I think,” Neil says slowly, grinning into his coffee, “this is the best Thanksgiving of my life.”

Andrew and Aaron share a look and drop their gazes. The, “Me too,” his unsaid, but Neil’s spent enough time around the twins to sometimes clue in to their silent conversations.

For once, Neil doesn’t think about the next day. He leans back in the cracked pink leather seat, sips his coffee and watches the trickle of traffic outside, lets his arm press against Andrew’s under the table.

It’s not quite hand-holding, but it’s enough.

+

“Andrew,” Aaron says, just as Andrew is overwhelmed by a jaw-cracking yawn. They’ve been studying in the school library for hours, or rather Aaron has been staring down his books and bouncing his leg under the table while Andrew’s been stuck on a math problem his brain doesn’t want to get to the bottom of.

He glances over to where Aaron indicated and spots Neil in the doorway, trying to squeeze past a girl blocking his path. She’s talking animatedly and twirling her hair around her finger, cheeks brushed pink as she looks at Neil coyly. Neil, as always, seems flustered and uncomfortable and on the cusp of saying something very rude just to get away.

It’s kind of entertaining to watch. The girl suddenly moves her hand as if to touch him and Neil nearly stumbles over his feet in hasty retreat. Her face falls almost comically fast, and then Neil manages to slip past her at last, hurrying over to the twins’ usual table in the corner.

“Got yourself a prom date, this early in the year?” Andrew sneers.

“Ugh,” Neil huffs. “Every fucking time. I’m not interested.”

He pulls Andrew’s homework to him with a scowl and starts marking his mistakes with pencil. Andrew doesn’t know why he keeps showing up in his free periods, but he has to admit his math grades have definitely gone up, and Neil’s been helping him and Aaron with their German conversation skills too. It’s not half bad, being holed up in the library with Aaron and Neil while rain lashes the windows and dark clouds press in, their table the only bright, safe spot in the bulk of approaching winter.

Another gaggle of girls enters the library. Aaron takes one look at them, curses under his breath and promptly ducks below the table with a mighty screech of his chair, effectively attracting everyone’s attention. Some of the girls laugh before moving on, whispering among themselves, and Aaron emerges with a furiously flushed neck.

“What was that all about?” Neil asks, bewildered. Aaron attempts to glare a hole in his book, fiddling angrily with his pen.

“He asked one of them to prom last week,” Andrew offers lazily. “She turned him down.”

“Oh,” Neil frowns.

“She also told all of her friends,” Andrew says, gesturing vaguely at the bookshelves behind which the girls have disappeared. Aaron looks about ready to break his pen in half.

“Whatever,” he mumbles mutinously. “I didn’t wanna go with her anyway.”

Neil hums unsympathetically and pushes Andrew’s homework back at him. Andrew rolls his eyes when he sees all the mistakes circled painstakingly in soft pencil. Aaron eyes the transaction, eager to catch a glimpse so he can copy from Andrew’s and Neil’s combined efforts, and Andrew snaps his notebook shut just to be an ass.

Aaron doesn’t ask any more girls to go to prom with him, but his constant moony eyes at the cheerleader are starting to make Andrew itchy. There’s a football match on Friday that Aaron has badgered Neil into accompanying him to, because Andrew hates sports on principle and football in particular. Andrew makes use of the opportunity to corner Kathryn or Katelyn or whatever her name is as she gets her bag from her locker after school.

“Oh,” she says when she sees him, “Aaron’s brother, right? That’s my locker, so…”

She points at the locker that Andrew is currently leaning against and waits for him to step aside. Andrew stares her down until she starts looking uncomfortable.

“Aaron wants to go to prom with you,” he says leisurely.

“Does he?” Katelyn says, looking resigned rather than surprised.

“I am trying to figure out if that would be a good idea.”

Katelyn snorts.

“It sounds to me like I’m the one who should make that decision, not you,” she says, pulling herself up to her full height. She’s taller than Andrew, which means she’s taller than Aaron. “And he can ask me himself, thank you very much,” Katelyn continues haughtily.

“If he does,” Andrew says, letting the sentence trail out. Katelyn flicks her eyes over him and purses her lips, thinking.

“I suppose I’d go with him,” she says slowly. “On the condition that he stops messing around with drugs. He’s smarter than that.”

“Is he?” Andrew asks, baring his teeth.

“Yes,” Katelyn says, so sure of herself that the word snaps like a rubber band in her mouth. “He is.”

“Hm,” Andrew says and pushes off from her locker. He leaves her standing there and wanders down the emptying corridors until he finds a vending machine. He feeds coins into it and it spits out two identical chocolate bars, then he makes a detour to the football field and finds Neil and Aaron sitting in the stands, blowing on their hands for warmth. Down below, the cheerleaders are just warming up, and Andrew spots Katelyn’s reddish-brown mop of curls among them.

“I thought you hated sports on principle and football in particular,” Neil greets him merrily, huddled in a jacket and scarf against the wind. Andrew drops the second chocolate bar in his lap and breaks a piece off of his to eat, ignoring Aaron’s grumbles about not getting one too.

“It’s because I’m his favourite,” Neil preens, making a show of unwrapping and biting into his chocolate bar. He cut his hair recently but it’s still floppy and messy, tugged this way and that by the wind. Matt forced some of his old clothes on him that had been shrunk in the wash at some point, and even though they’re still too big on him, he looks acceptably-dressed for the first time since Andrew met him.

The cheerleaders have started one of their routines to rile up the crowd before the game and Aaron watches them, oblivious to anything going on around him. It’s lucky, because otherwise he would’ve noticed Andrew staring at Neil like a lovesick fool.

He tears his eyes away and resigns himself to two hours of mind-numbing boredom.

+

On December first, Neil gets a text from an unknown number.

All it says is, “31”. Neil frowns at it, then deletes it with an uneasy feeling in his gut. Matt is singing Christmas carols and decorating the living room with tinsel and ornaments, wearing a Santa hat on his head. Some Christmas movie is on in the background and the apartment smells like a strange mixture of cinnamon and weed. It’s raining and the windows are open, letting in a constant stream of wet air. Neil yawns into his sleeve and curls up sideways on the armchair. He’s still tired from last night’s shift, but the chime of the odd text message coming through has woken him up for good and now he feels too unsettled to go back to sleep.

There’s another text the next day, and the day after that. It goes from 31 to 30 and 29, and Neil realises it’s a countdown.

The panic creeps up on him slowly this time, following him around the empty apartment as he makes himself a sandwich and takes a shower. Like a predator it stalks him, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike; finding it when Neil looks up from rinsing his mouth at the sink to catch sight of his blue eyes in an unfortunate smear on the steamed-up mirror.

His body flushes hot and then cold, leaving clammy sweat all over his skin. The gaps between his ribs seem to have filled with rubber bands, squeezing around his chest until he can barely breathe. It was only a matter of time, he’s known that from the start. The last two years have been nothing but a lucky glitch, and now Neil has to face reality again.

He compiles a mental list of things to do–pack his bag, burn his current ID, ditch his phone, get out of town and lose whoever’s pursuing him. There’s a rushing sound in his ears and he moves on autopilot, picking up some of the things strewn about the apartment and shoving them in his duffel. He’s about to put on his boots and find a place to burn the surplus before slipping away to the train station when his phone buzzes in his hand.

It’s a message from Andrew, letting him know that he’s bringing Aaron and some Indian takeout home for dinner. It stops Neil in his tracks, though it doesn’t soothe the frantic pounding of his heart. He’s left too much of a footprint in this place. If his father’s people know where he is, then they also know about Andrew, and possibly Aaron, Matt and the others too. Neil sits down in the hallway, hunched over and breathing harshly, clutching at his hair. It’s too late. He can’t leave them here unprotected. It’s the first time Neil looks at the possible collateral damage and can’t bring himself to risk it, and he can almost feel his mother’s sharp fingers tearing at him, urging him to go go go.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, rocking back and forth and trying to push himself over the edge of the decision he knows he’s already made in his heart. The sound of footsteps in the staircase jolts him out of it and he quickly scrambles to his feet, ditching his boots and dumping his bag in his room just as Andrew unlocks the front door.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, kicks the bag under the bed and goes to greet the twins, who are arguing over how much garlic is too much.

“Hey,” Neil says blandly, picking up the bags of food and carrying them into the kitchen. He leaves the milder curries on the counter for Andrew and Aaron and grabs the container of spicy chicken vindaloo and some of the naan bread for himself, sinking into the armchair that Matt has covered in a reindeer-patterned throw blanket. Slowly, with every bite of hot food, the panic sluices out of him like water swirling down a drain, leaving him limp and exhausted after stewing in it for the better part of the day.

A fork pokes its way into his narrowed-down field of vision and he blinks, watching it steal a bite of his food and following its path back to Andrew’s mouth. The spiciness makes him cough and he shoots Neil a dirty look, as if it’s his fault that Andrew just _had_ to steal a bite despite knowing better.

“Do you think I could get a job at that night club where you guys work?” Aaron says, oblivious to their little staring contest. He’s picking at his food, looking pale and jittery, his eyes red around the edges. Neil thinks about Eden’s and all the different drugs passing hands and mouths under blind eyes there and tries to convey his dislike of the idea to Andrew with another look.

“They aren’t hiring at the moment,” Andrew says carefully.

“Oh,” Aaron says glumly, poking at a chunk of meat. “Why is it so hard to get a fucking job, anyway? I can’t afford to move out if I don’t find one.”

“You could try Sweetie’s,” Neil muses, chasing the last bits of rice around his food container.

“Already did,” Aaron mutters darkly. “They don’t hire under 21.”

The conversation effectively ends when Matt gets home, bringing Sugar, Dan and a whole lot of alcohol. Aaron’s eyes light up when he sees the giant bottle of vodka and Dan takes him under her wing making cocktails while Sugar slobbers all over Andrew’s hand and Matt belts out another slightly off-key rendition of Jingle Bells.

Aaron ends up crashing on the couch again. Neil throws a blanket at him before stumbling off to the bathroom. He doesn’t remember that he packed his toothbrush away earlier until he’s standing in front of the sink and staring blearily at the cup that only holds Andrew’s. He goes to fetch it and finds Andrew sitting on the floor, Neil’s duffel bag in front of him, holding on to the straps.

Andrew looks at him with a tired expression in his eyes and Neil feels something tear inside him, draining the last of his urge to run.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, kneeling down on the ground next to Andrew. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” Andrew says. He’s still holding on to the straps of Neil’s bag, so Neil tugs them out of his grasp and unzips it, taking out his things one by one and shoving the empty bag back under the bed.

“I panicked,” Neil admits, picking up his toiletry bag and his towel. “But I’m staying.”

“Okay,” Andrew says again, with more conviction this time.


	3. I don't wanna lie but I don't wanna tell you the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys... I'm so scared to post this chapter... I promise I'm working on the next and last part of this series and will try to post it ASAP :')

“Have you thought about going to college,” Andrew asks Neil a few days before Christmas.

They’re camped out in their bed, Neil on his front checking over Andrew’s math homework and Andrew on his back, throwing crumpled-up bits of paper at the stains on the ceiling. Neil makes a breathy little sound and circles something on the worksheet.

“Your father is in prison,” Andrew reminds him. “He might never make it out.”

“He will,” Neil says quietly, chewing on his thumbnail. “Probably sooner rather than later, if he bought the right lawyers. They’ve never been able to pin anything on him before. Here, you just need to do this one over and finish the last one.”

Andrew takes his homework and demonstratively lets it drop on the floor, then he turns on his side to face Neil.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmurs. “You should do something while you have the chance.”

Neil’s mouth creases in a bitter smile. He has chapped lips from the cold and a tiny scar on one side of his mouth, almost like a dimple. Not for the first time, Andrew thinks about kissing him. But for the first time, he sees Neil looking at his mouth too and wonders if Neil might be thinking the same thing.

They both startle when there’s a knock at the door. Andrew nearly loses his balance as he scoots back to the edge of the mattress, but Matt merely laughs when he sticks his head in.

“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt there,” he grins. “Dinner’s almost ready, if you want spaghetti and meatballs there’s plenty to go around.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, something rough caught in his voice. “We’ll– yeah.”

Matt putters off but leaves the door open, and they both awkwardly get to their feet and shuffle around aimlessly to dispel the weird atmosphere. The smell from the kitchen is mouth-watering and Andrew follows it to a table set for three. Sugar is gobbling up his own dinner in the corner and Matt plonks a giant, steaming pot of spaghetti down on the table.

“You guys are so fucking sweet, I’m gonna get diabetes,” Matt tells him conspiratorially. Andrew ignores him and piles spaghetti on his plate, then fills Neil’s too just for something to do.

“Hey, so, do you have any plans for Christmas?” Matt asks, scooping Sugar up and plopping him down on his lap. “Because Dan got time off work and we were thinking about going to see my mom, but my little buddy here gets real travel anxious.”

Neil slides into the seat next to Andrew and steals one of his meatballs even though he has plenty on his own plate.

“You want us to look after him?”

“If you’re staying here, that’d be great. I can take him, I just think he’d be happier at home.”

Neil gets one of his glassy, far-away looks that mean he’s thinking about something bad, so Andrew blatantly steals one of his meatballs back and startles him into an impromptu fork and knife duel that Andrew wins.

“We’ll be back by the first,” Matt says. Sugar puts his head on the table, eyeing the meatballs hopefully. Andrew looks at him and allows himself to imagine a quiet, comfortable Christmas tucked up in their room, with enough food to last them through the holidays, watching dumb Christmas movies on Matt’s Netflix account and taking Sugar for a walk around the block together, maybe holding hands. The thought tastes like overpriced candy, low-quality chocolate wrapped in shiny foil, but Andrew can’t help craving it anyway.

“Can Aaron sleep in your room while you’re gone?” Neil surprises him by asking Matt.

“Sure,” Matt beams. “The more, the merrier. You hear that, Sugar? You’re gonna have all the company this Christmas!”

Neil glances at Andrew and Andrew nods before stealing another meatball off his plate. Getting Aaron out of Tilda’s house over the holidays isn’t enough, but it’s _something_ , and Andrew has noticed that Neil’s been cagier than usual lately and often isn’t home when Andrew gets back from school. If he’s planning something, Andrew can be patient.

The realisation that he trusts Neil, would trust him not just with his own life but with Aaron’s too, feels odd on Andrew’s tongue, like peach fuzz or raspberry seeds. He lets Neil steal two meatballs from him and doesn’t even attempt to stop him. Instead he watches as Neil crams both in his mouth at once, looking like a smug hamster, and tries to swallow down the slimy lump of hope clogging his throat. Hope that maybe he can keep this, just this once; keep Neil and Aaron and a home, without having to sacrifice something unbearable in exchange.

+

Organising everything in what little time Neil has left is a pain. Luckily the money he gets from one of his mom’s old caches manages to grease everything along, and the daily countdown texts mean that he doesn’t have to be as careful anymore about not leaving a trail. Neil spends the last few days before Christmas in a daze, swinging between numbness and terror and trying to hold everything together with duct tape so Andrew won’t notice anything amiss, and he falls into bed drained and exhausted to the bone after his shift at Eden’s, though actual sleep is still hard to come by.

Matt and Dan leave early on the twenty-fourth. When Matt makes an attempt at hugging Neil goodbye, Neil steps into his embrace instead of away from it. Matt has to stoop down and Neil accidentally treads on his foot in the confusion, but Matt just laughs and squeezes him so tight Neil can barely breathe for a moment.

“Merry Christmas, little dude,” Matt says as he releases him. “There’s a couple gifts under the tree for you guys, alright? Don’t open them until tomorrow!”

Neil’s heart sinks – amid all the stress of getting the twins sorted, he didn’t think to get anything for Matt or the girls. He chokes out an apology and Matt laughs again and pulls him into another hug before Dan yanks him out the door so they won’t be late to the airport. Sugar lets out a confused yip, staring at the door, and Neil decides to take him for a walk to distract him from Matt’s absence, and maybe himself, too.

He stops by the public library and orders an expensive pair of professional boxing gloves online and some fancy rosé for Dan and Allison, but it feels insufficient, like a half-hearted afterthought. He doesn’t want to leave Sugar waiting for too long though, so he makes his way back home in a damp drizzle of snow, shivering and miserable, and finds the twins in the kitchen attempting to make Christmas dinner.

“That’s not how you make gravy,” Aaron grumbles. “You’re messing it all up.”

“Fuck off,” Andrew tells him, “I know how to make gravy. You’re the one who burned the potatoes.”

Neil watches them squabble, leaning against the doorway with a heavy heart. He looks at the life that has collected like lint in his pockets, that continues to accumulate no matter how many times he tries to shake them out. He has seven days left before he has to shed the comfortable jacket he’s grown so used to and step outside into the cold again, and it almost feels like tearing off a limb.

“Neil! Tell him he’s doing it wrong!”

“How the fuck should I know?” Neil mumbles, and leaves them to the disaster zone they’ve made of the kitchen.

Against all expectations, dinner actually turns out edible. Between them the twins have cobbled together a decent roast, a batch of lumpy dinner rolls, buttery peas and carrots and a giant pot of cheesy mashed potatoes that only have a _few_ burnt bits. Neil eats as much as he can cram into his stomach and then some, and then they all lie around the living room watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas and groaning about how full they are. Andrew is the only one brave enough to try the pecan brittle fudge ice-cream stashed in the freezer, but even he only makes it through a few spoonfuls before giving up. He pours them all a generous measure of Matt’s Scotch though, and Neil slides down on the sofa and lets the alcohol burn the edge off his mopey mood.

Aaron falls asleep first, mouth lolling open against the side of the old armchair that Matt dragged in from the flea market a few weeks ago. Andrew kicks him until he wakes up again, and Neil peers into the messy kitchen and decides clean-up can wait until tomorrow. He stifles a yawn in his sleeve and overhears Aaron talking to Andrew on his way to the bathroom.

“Can you, like, not do stuff while I’m here?”

“Stuff,” Andrew echoes, deadpan.

“Yeah, you know,” Aaron mutters, sounding exasperated. “Stuff. With Neil. I don’t wanna hear _that_.”

Neil doesn’t hear Andrew’s response, which he guesses is just an eye-roll anyway, but he can feel his ears flush hot at the implication that Aaron thinks they’re doing… _stuff_. He definitely wouldn’t want Aaron to hear that either, but it’s not like there’s any chance of anything happening, anyway. Neil’s countdown is ticking down the days until the end. He knows he wants to spend that last week with Andrew, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask anything else of him when Neil won’t be here anymore by the start of the new year.

Still, though. _Stuff_. Neil allows himself to wonder what it would be like, listening to Andrew’s steady breathing next to him when they’re in bed and Neil can’t sleep. He thinks of all the things he’s always pushed away before: kissing Andrew, holding Andrew’s hand, falling asleep in Andrew’s arms instead of on the other side of a narrow mattress with an unbridgeable gap between them. He thinks of more than that, too: kissing Andrew’s scars on the bad days. Washing his hair. Burying his face in the crook of his neck and inhaling the scent of his skin. Being permitted, no, _wanted_ under Andrew’s clothes; making him feel good…

He falls asleep wondering and wakes up hard.

Andrew is already up, which is a small mercy. Neil shuffles awkwardly to the bathroom and deals with the issue as quickly and discreetly as he can, neck still crawling with awkwardness when he joins the twins for a bleary-eyed breakfast. No one says anything, the TV is turned to Christmas morning cartoons, and Sugar runs happy circles around them even though Aaron already took him for a walk.

After breakfast, Neil notices Aaron staring at the tiny pile of presents under Matt’s tree. Neil picks up the video game he got for Aaron and throws it at him, laughing when Aaron fumbles and drops it out of surprise.

“Keep up,” he grins, nudging Andrew’s presents at him with his foot, which leaves Neil’s own and the plastic bag that contains some clothes and a bottle of Zoubrovka vodka that Andrew got for Aaron and never wrapped.

Neil opens Matt’s gift first, finding a pair of brand new Nikes with reflector stripes for running at night. He’s already planning on breaking them in later, but for now he moves on to what Andrew got him, picking curiously at the tape that holds a tall bag together at the top.

“It’s a ghost chilli,” Andrew tells him before he’s even finished peeling off the tape. There’s a potted plant inside, boasting several bright red pods, with a little sign and instructions on how to care for it.

“Don’t you dare get that anywhere near our food,” Aaron mutters, squinting suspiciously.

“Believe me, I have no interest in taking you to the emergency room just because you can’t handle a little spice,” Neil scoffs. “You can keep mutilating your tastebuds with garlic, no thanks.”

“Neil,” Andrew interrupts them. “What the fuck?”

He holds up the heavy bicycle lock Neil hastily wrapped in newspaper last night. Neil shrugs a bit sheepishly and says, “It’s in the basement, Matt said he didn’t mind sharing the space.”

“What, a bicycle?” Aaron snorts. Andrew is looking at the lock like it’s going to disappear in a cloud of smoke any minute now, but when nothing happens and Neil doesn’t start laughing, he scrambles up and gets his shoes to check.

Aaron turns incredulous eyes on Neil.

“Really? A bicycle?”

“He keeps stealing Matt’s,” Neil says defensively. “And it’s not like we can afford a car right now.”

Aaron is still staring, but there’s something considering in his eyes now, and Neil squirms away from his gaze and goes to make more coffee instead. Andrew stays downstairs for a long time and doesn’t say anything when he comes back, but he follows Neil as he goes for his run later and accompanies him on the bike.

The twins spend most of the afternoon playing Aaron’s new game and stuffing themselves with food. Neil lounges around on the sofa, alternating between napping and watching Andrew thoroughly cream Aaron over and over again on the screen. They have leftovers for dinner and crack open the bottle of vodka for dessert, though Neil sticks to his one glass and falls asleep with his feet slung over Andrew’s lap.

Six days left, he thinks when he wakes up to the warm weight of Andrew’s hand on his ankle.

+

Neil hasn’t been sleeping.

Andrew has noticed, but he’s too familiar with the way insomnia turns the body inside out hunting for treasure that isn’t there, too familiar with the ache and pull and grind of a brain withholding sleep from itself until it creaks, so he doesn’t say anything. He keeps track of every stolen hour, every nap on the couch. When Neil dozes off after a single measure of vodka, Andrew mutes the television and sits still under the tired burden of Neil’s legs in his lap. All the lights are off except for the ones on the horrible Christmas tree. Aaron’s eyes flick between Neil and Andrew, gleaming like the glow of the lights reflected in the bottle of vodka in his hand, an echo of an echo. He drinks a bit more. Stares a bit more. Heaves himself up and mumbles a sloppy good night.

Andrew lets Neil sleep. It’s past midnight when he finally stirs. Something flickers and dies in Neil’s eyes when he glances at the digital clock on the DVD player, but Andrew doesn’t know what.

They go to bed and Neil’s whole body screams _awake_ , curled like a scythe on the edge of the mattress. Andrew turns on his side and murmurs his name, watching the answering twitch in his shoulders.

“What?” Neil whispers, tense. Andrew waits until he turns around, brows drawn and eyes heavy in the dark.

“Sleep,” Andrew tells him. Neil swallows thickly, audibly.

“I can’t.”

“You can. You just did on the couch.”

Neil sighs his frustration into the pillow. They’re so close Andrew can smell the mint toothpaste on his breath, can see a resolve breaking in his overtired eyes.

“I can’t, I, can you,” he stutters out, like crumbs spilling over the pillow between them. “Can I touch you?”

A shiver trips down Andrew’s spine. He needs to know where, needs to know how; needs to know that Neil isn’t going to blur the boundaries between them into obscurity for good, because Andrew doesn’t know how to reconstruct them if he does. But what he needs isn’t always what he wants, and his treacherous tongue drips an ill-advised “Yes” before he can stop it.

Neil’s hands shake loose from their gnarl of blanket and reach out. The moment his shaking fingers curl into Andrew’s shirt, Andrew grabs him back and pulls him all the way against his chest, and oh, it’s not just Neil’s hands that are trembling like tracks bearing the weight of an oncoming train.

For a moment Andrew wonders if Neil is crying, but Neil never cries. All he does is shake and clutch at Andrew’s shirt, not a single sound escaping from him. Andrew holds him through it, muscles taut like he’s holding a heavy weight, only relaxing incrementally when Neil starts to calm down. He nudges his hand up to the back of Neil’s head and pulls a little at the curls, drawing a sigh from him that is almost a gasp, though it sounds like pleasure rather than the grounding pain of withdrawing from the knife-edge of a panic attack.

“Neil,” Andrew murmurs.

“Sorry,” Neil whispers. “I just.”

He tugs meekly on the fabric of Andrew’s shirt, like his hands are stuck to it, and Andrew pulls on his hair again, this time a little sharper. Neil mewls out a small protest and burrows tighter against him. It feels too hot under the blankets now and Andrew is clammy and sweaty and shuddery, and he needs Neil to let him go so he can build his defences back up but he wants Neil to hold on until they fuse, until moss grows over all their cracks and hides them from the world.

Their foreheads bump together and there’s the softest smack of sound as they peel apart again. Andrew’s thumb brushes over the shell of Neil’s ear and it feels hot to the touch. Neil makes another tiny, mewly sound and shivers himself closer, and Andrew yanks the blankets out from between them so they can finally line up head to toe.

He’s not sure who starts the kiss. They both kind of fidget and fret themselves into and around each other’s space until their mouths slide together over heated skin, meeting in the middle. Neil makes the gasp-sigh noise again, his whole body twitching like it sometimes does just as he’s falling asleep, and Andrew fists both hands in Neil’s hair and kisses himself raw against the mouth he’s been fantasising about for months. He feels like a piece of sea glass, polished down to smoothness by the unrelenting existence of this boy in his life. Neil washes over him, sweeping him away and anchoring him at the same time, and for the longest moment Andrew wonders if he needs to pinch himself awake from this dream.

But he doesn’t wake up, and Neil doesn’t sleep, and they drift together for so long that Andrew’s mouth feels sore from it and Neil withdraws, flustered and giddy, to inform him that he needs the bathroom real quick.

When he’s gone, Andrew lies on his back, heaving in great big gulps of air, and thinks that standing on the roof of the school building and looking down at the ground is nothing compared to this feeling.

+

Once he’s done in the bathroom, Neil sits on the floor for a moment and wills his shaking heart to calm down. He has five days left and he just kissed Andrew, or Andrew kissed him, or they kissed each other; whichever it is, it shouldn’t have happened, but Neil can’t bring himself to regret it.

He wants–everything. He wants to kiss Andrew again and he wants whatever else Andrew is willing to give him. More than everything he wants to stay. He wants to be here when Andrew finds the keys that Neil’s taped underneath the bed for safe-keeping, the ones to their old house, the one they squatted in when they first came here. He wants to see Andrew’s face when he realises that Neil’s bought the house in his and Aaron’s name, making it officially theirs. He wants to help them fix up the house and the garden, wants to move in with them, wants to buy furniture with them and maybe get a dog or some other pet. He wants a future of his own, maybe go to college, make some friends. He wants to make it past twenty-five and he really, really wants to kiss Andrew again.

For five minutes, he allows the wanting to consume him, burn him down like a forest fire. Then he gets up and leaves the bathroom, stopping by the kitchen for a glass of water. Sugar is prowling just inside the front door, growling and yipping, and Neil frowns. Andrew took him around the block before dinner, but maybe he needs to go again. Maybe Neil could use some fresh air, too.

He pads back to the bedroom to let Andrew know where he’s going and puts on some socks. Andrew is sitting up in bed, looking dishevelled and pink, and Neil takes a moment to drink in the sight.

“I won’t be long,” he promises softly. On an impulse, he leans back in for a quick kiss, and Andrew flicks his forehead when he moves away.

“See that you won’t,” he mutters, voice a low growl, and Neil bites his lip to tamp down a silly grin.

He puts his shoes and jacket on over his pyjamas and grabs Sugar’s leash, stifling a yawn in his hand. Sugar skitters over his feet and barks at nothing in the staircase, no matter how much Neil tries to shush him. The air is bitterly cold outside, though there’s no snow in sight, and Neil shivers and hunches into his jacket while Sugar pulls and strains at his leash.

“What’s the matter with you? Just do your business, you tiny menace,” Neil mutters, trying to tempt him toward one of his usual spots. Sugar barks and pulls in the opposite direction, and suddenly Neil feels like he’s being watched.

He turns around, but there’s just shadows and the filmy light of a street lamp.

Five days, he reminds himself. He still has five days to say goodbye.

His heart is pounding in his ears now though and he grips the leash tighter in his hand. Sugar is still sniffing and fussing, and for a moment Neil thinks he can smell the familiar tang of blood in the air, but the breeze whips it away.

He makes it almost back to the door of the apartment building when there’s the unmistakable click of a high heel against the ground. Sugar barks and growls and Neil wants nothing more than to run, run, run and never look back. He can’t abandon Sugar though, and he can’t abandon the twins, snug and warm and unguarded in their beds with the front door unlocked.

Cold trickles down his spine like the icy wind is melting along his back.

“Hello, Junior,” says a sickly voice to his right. “Fancy seeing you out here at this hour.”

“No,” Neil chokes out hoarsely. “I have five more days.”

“Oh, honey,” Lola simpers, “plans have changed. So sorry, but your playtime’s up. Time to go home, baby.”

Neil closes his eyes. Thinks of Andrew upstairs, waiting for him to get back. He winds Sugar’s leash around a fencepost as securely as he can, praying that Andrew will find him here when he comes to check why Neil’s taking so long, and that he will know that Neil had to go. Neil doesn’t have anything else to leave behind; his phone is still upstairs, and he can’t get himself to relinquish his apartment keys just yet, let alone leave them lying in the open for anyone to pick up.

“Say bye-bye,” Lola croons. “Daddy’s waiting.”

“I’ll come with you,” Neil says brokenly. “Just promise me you won’t hurt them.”

“Promises, promises,” Lola sing-songs, tossing her head back. She isn’t even carrying a gun. The threat of whoever she has lurking in the shadows, prowling the apartment building and the neighbourhood, is enough to keep Neil in check and she knows it. “But we reward good behaviour, don’t we? That’s how you train dogs, after all. What do you think, can we teach this mutt some new tricks?”

She gazes at Sugar and Neil is struck immobile by the flash of a knife in her sleeve. Turning it between her fingers, she laughs at his fear and gestures with the tip, shepherding him to a nondescript black car at the edge of the parking lot.

“Passenger seat. There’s a good boy.”

He climbs in and feels cold metal close around his wrists. Lola bends down to grin at him through the open door before slamming it shut, then she twists around and throws the knife. A dog’s pained yowl cuts through the deathly silence of the parking lot, quickly overpowered by the rev of the motor as the car drives off and Lola’s deranged laughter in the back seat.

_I’m sorry_ , Neil thinks, heart sinking like a foot on the gas pedal, _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THE DOG'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please don't hate me.......... everything will get fixed in the next part......... *hides*


End file.
